Somebody Stepped Inside Your Soul
by ThePreciousHeart
Summary: Harry's thoughts during the church scene, and during recovery after. Combo shipping fic and scene study.


_Somebody Stepped Inside Your Soul_

"I'm a Catholic whore currently enjoying congress out of wedlock with my black Jewish boyfriend who works at the military abortion clinic. So hail Satan, and have a lovely afternoon, madam."

 _Well,_ Harry thinks as the seething crowd of Bible-thumpers begins to gather behind him, _at least_ one _part is true_. The boyfriend in question may not be black or Jewish. But he has indeed got a boyfriend in question.

Said boyfriend is waiting at the other end of the line, ready for him to get out of the church before these crazed idiots start stoning him or whatever sinister punishment they have in mind. Said boyfriend also chuckled at that over-the-top statement, not very loudly, but just enough to tickle his eardrums with warmth. The glasses he wears always bring a certain familiarity, a comforting attachment to his work's proceedings. Whenever he's connected to Merlin, he feels profoundly protected, no matter the distance between them. It was probably that feeling that led to the beginning of their haphazard relationship in the first place. No other Kingsman agent has sparked similar emotions.

Leaving the church should be a cakewalk. It _would_ have been a cakewalk, to just stroll out the door and go on his merry way, trying to hunt down Valentine and decipher his plans. Nothing much has been gained from the excursion so far, but if it all turns out to be a false lead at least Harry has performed his duty, even if he has had to sit through some highly offensive and inflammatory rhetoric to do so. The important part is that he's fulfilling the job to the best of his abilities. That's all that can be asked from a good gentleman spy.

 _(He hopes someday, Eggsy will understand that…)_

It should be easy. He should be able to just step outside the church and never have to look back. But then something inside him seems to snap, and the world slowly seeps into a vision of red. His blood begins to boil, his pulse racing, adrenaline starting to trickle through his system. Burning-hot cinders begin to smolder away in his stomach, building up tension that can only be released through pure movement and action. Namely, fighting. Or more properly, killing.

Every sense is flooded with hate, overwhelmed by an immense desire to unleash his rage, to hit and hurt. It's so strong, so unlike anything he's ever felt before, that a small part of him is caught off-guard. _These may be hateful people, but there's no reason for that sort of reaction._ It's not like he hasn't heard things like this before. Hell, he's heard it a million times from anyone he was unfortunate enough to open up to in his younger days. And training was supposed to combat this, teaching to value the team over the self. Any other slight against him has been easy to brush off, to forget, maybe even to forgive.

 _(Well, except for that day in the bar. But that had been no ordinary day, and he'd had that certain crack used against him one too many times.)_

 _(But even then, he hadn't wanted to KILL those boneheaded thugs… Teach them a lesson, of course, but certainly not outright KILL…)_

The best thing to do right now, the smart thing, would be to leave the church. Whatever Valentine's got planned isn't immediately apparent; he needs to try and gather more information. But he can't seem to take another step in the right direction. Instead, he turns and, to his internal horror, draws his gun at the woman who's berating him for being an infidel. At the sight of it, she shuts up, and a sickly pleasure spreads throughout him, almost like the giddy eagerness of riding the vast elevator down to headquarters _. (A feeling which has never entirely gone away.)_ But at the same time, he's also thoroughly shocked at himself.

 _But I'm not- I shouldn't be- her behavior doesn't warrant- what's happ-_

Then Harry notices the look in her eyes, a split second before the gun goes off. Before her head is transformed into a bloody mess, he sees the rage in her eyes too, a rage that goes far beyond the religious fervor and passes straight into _bloodlust._

It all becomes clear to him in that split second. But then the gun's fired, and he finds himself powerless.

It's his boyfriend's voice he hears above the din, above the shouting and moaning and anguished cries of pain. "Harry, what the heck is going on?!" But he can't respond, not just because he has no control over his tongue, but because he has no idea himself. His hands seem to have a mind of their own. His body moves with deadly precision, putting bullets through brains left and right, bashing heads in with his gun and stabbing chests with knives and even pushing faces into flames. One by one each of his little toys come out, the tools of a spy that he'd just shown Eggsy on the day of his final test. With his ring he electrifies, with the grenade he causes an explosion. Blood spills across his bare knuckles. Thank God he doesn't have the umbrella with him here, because with it he would be even deadlier **.** But there's another part of him that wishes he did have it, because with it he would be _even deadlier_ , able to kill and injure even more people… _More, more. Give me MORE._ It's all he wants, and yet he doesn't want it at all, because such outrageous acts of violence defy everything that the Kingsmen stand for. Hadn't he just schooled Eggsy in this very fact that day?

 _Eggsy…_ Suddenly it occurs to him, as he's thrown to the floor by the force of the explosion he's just caused, that Eggsy may be watching this display right now. He's no fool; he may have shut his laptop upon leaving, but he knows Eggsy wouldn't let that stop him from watching the mission. What does he think to see Harry going berserk like this, to brazenly act against everything he has taught and been taught? Then he remembers Merlin is also watching, and a cold chill slips into his bones. It's not like Merlin hasn't seen Harry fight before- in fact, it's a sight he's always been open about enjoying- but it's never been like this before, he's never been this violent and bloody and dangerous and _this isn't Harry anyway._ This isn't him, this isn't him, this isn't happening, it's not happening, it's not happening, it's not-

Dust settles across the church, all quiet on the Western front, and Harry finds himself staring down at the countless bodies strewn across the ground, many disfigured, all dead. Except for him. He's the last man standing. He's breathing hard, but only because of the physical workout he's just been through. Not even a tremble of the hands betrays how sickened, how stunned he feels. It's always a good idea to keep his emotions in check, even if he has just massacred an entire church congregation.

That doesn't mean he _can't_ feel anything, of course. He feels a bit light-headed, probably from the adrenaline rush dying down. He also feels a little like he's going to be sick- not so much because of the gristly sight before him as the fact that _he_ caused this to happen. He feels used _,_ possibly even _violated. (What happened to me? What did he do…?)_ But more than anything, Harry feels… shocked. Shocked to the point of numbness. He longs to ground himself, to reach for the comforts of his connection to HQ, but the other end of the line is dead. Merlin must be just as taken aback as Harry is. Or perhaps the glasses' mic has been damaged by the fighting, maybe from the grenade explosion.

He wants nothing more than to reassure his boyfriend- _That wasn't me, love, it wasn't… me…_

But he'd wanted to do it, hadn't he? He'd _wanted_ to taste the blood in the air, to feel the snap of bones beneath his feet. He'd been consumed by no desire but to kill and kill again. Those had been genuine _feelings,_ not something that was conjured out of thin air.

By the time Harry makes his way back to the church door, the numbed shock has progressed to crushing realization, which in turn begins to transform into… disgust. He's disgusted and appalled and perhaps even a tiny bit _afraid_ of what could have made him feel like this. The former emotion he's not exactly a stranger to. But the latter is different. He's never felt so… vulnerable. So uncertain and confused and… well. So… _traumatized,_ even. Ridiculous… but he can't deny it. _I lost control. It wasn't me…_

It's no surprise when Valentine shows up outside the church. This has all been part of his master plan, after all. It is a bit of a surprise, however, when he draws a gun. Harry hadn't pegged Valentine for the type that does his own dirty work.

The bullet does its work quickly, but Harry still manages to find the time for a bit of his life to flash before his eyes. Not much of it, though. Mostly he just sees himself slaughtering the churchgoers, over and over. Enough for him to accept it when the bullet hits. After such a stunt, he probably deserves to die like this, without any honor or fanfare whatsoever.

 _(If he hears his boyfriend screaming his name over the line, he doesn't respond.)_

It's not his fault that the rest of Kingsman assume he's died. He himself assumes it too. After all, as he's discovered not so long ago, being in a coma is enough to trick anybody. It's genuinely rather surprising when the endless black wave gives way to light, white light, dry and fluorescent and _real._ Hospital lights, or at least something resembling a hospital. Too blurry to make much of anything out. But his ears succeed where his eyes have failed him, and the first thing he hears welcoming him back to reality is his boyfriend's voice. Just like he'd never left it.

"Harry…! Oh, thank God, you're _back."_

Yes, he is. _I suppose._

"You're safe now. We're at HQ."

He sure as hell hopes he's safe.

Eventually more sound and vision begins filtering in, and he's able to take in and react to his surroundings. All the while, his boyfriend stays with him. They can't really hold a conversation those first few weeks, what with the impairment to the brain and all, but Harry finds it charming how Merlin insists on staying by his side. Just like when he'd been poisoned, Merlin manages to pop in as often as he can to check up on Harry, and Harry is happy to receive him. Anything to keep him from having to see the dead churchgoers and Valentine's face rise before his eyes. Anything to keep him from wrapping his mind around what he had done.

When Harry's well enough to speak without pauses between words, and to sit up and take his boyfriend's hand, the first thing Merlin tells him is that he's glad to see Harry has pulled through. That is nice to hear. What's not so nice to hear is what follows, a long run-down of everything that's happened in the meantime. Valentine's plan, Arthur's death, the mass murder on V-Day, the way that Eggsy and Roxy foiled the plan and Eggsy's ascension into Kingsman… Then the gut-punch. Apparently Merlin has neglected to let either of the two newest recruits know that Harry has survived the shot.

" _Fuck,"_ Harry blurts when he hears this, his fingers going slack in Merlin's hand. "Roxy and Eggsy are in the _dark_ about- about _this_? I don't understand how you could do that to them."

Merlin is implacable as always, expressing little emotion on his face- but years of studying that perfect face has left Harry able to read him closely, and he knows what that bit of tenseness around the eyes means. Merlin is entirely regretting that decision.

"You have to remember, Harry, I've been so busy with the job, helping out the new agents and running the training program for our new Arthur. I haven't had the time to-"

"To _tell them that I'm still alive?_ I don't see how one just- doesn't have time for news as important as _that._ Meanwhile, you _did_ seem to have enough time to stay by my side for half the time I've been laid up. Of course I'm very grateful for your presence, and I wouldn't wish for anyone else to wake up to. But you should have told them earlier, I mean isn't it going to be a shock when they find out I'm alive, they must have been mourning for _months,_ I mean- shit, Ivan, you must have had a _funeral_ or something, you couldn't have just- brushed it _off_ , just what did you hope to _accomplish_ by- by-"

At that Merlin silences Harry by giving his hand a tight squeeze, trapping him so he can't move away. Not that Harry wants to; in fact he's rather glad that Merlin stopped him before he could ramble too much, because talking is still exhausting for him. He gazes up into his boyfriend's eyes, and sees the regret shining there as clear as day- the internal struggle he's been over and over in his mind, trying to rationalize the decision and being torn up by it every day.

"I had to, Harry," he says simply. "Because for a while it looked like you weren't going to make it. I wouldn't want to give them that kind of news. To get their hopes up, only to have them crashing down. It doesn't mean a thing to our senior agents, but they're young, and they've developed attachments, particularly Eggsy. It's easier to believe that the body wasn't recovered, than it is for the body to be recovered and then lost again."

Pursing his lips, Harry gives his boyfriend a long look, trying to work out how he feels about the entire affair (and especially trying not to think about how he could have been just "the body," if Valentine wasn't so squeamish about killing). Then he slowly tightens his grip in Merlin's hand, threading his fingers through his boyfriend's. It takes some of his precious strength, but it's strength he's willing to give.

"Well," he murmurs, "regardless of what the outcome may be, I understand that it was a difficult call to make, and I appreciate the sentiment behind your actions. Although I don't believe that it was right to try and soften the blow just because Eggsy and Roxy are young. If they're true Kingsman material, they can handle it like any of us." He has to pause for a bit to think of the right words- they can be hard to find nowadays, as if he's reaching for them behind a great wall inside his mind. "Would they mistake me for a ghost if they saw me now? Perhaps I should announce my return dressed all in white. Give the kids a good scare."

Relief is now filtering slowly across Merlin's face, but Harry hardly needs to glance at him to know- the touch of his hand speaks enough volumes. "I'd hardly call them kids, Harry," he says. "You should see some of the antics Eggsy's been up to. He was frolicking with the princess of Sweden right after V-Day. Gave me a lovely shot of her bum." He grimaces. "And that's not even getting into some of the other things he's pulled while…"

A faint but fond smile tugs at Harry's lips. "Eggsy?" he cuts in. "Or do you mean…?"

"Gawain," Merlin states, half-smiling as well despite himself. "Lucky we didn't have one yet. Thanks to Caradocand Erec. Our founders' appreciation for the more obscure Arthurian characters is quite fascinating, and if we're being honest, more than a bit disturbing."

"Gawain," Harry repeats, satisfied. Gently he disentangles his hand from Merlin's grip and touches the back of his hand with his thumb. "I always figured Eggsy should take my name. Especially with me out of commission for a while. I wouldn't mind being a Gawain or even a Bagdemagus if I had to take a new one."

"Now _that_ is disturbing," Merlin says dryly, to which Harry happily adds in his mind, _But fascinating, too._ "Eggsy refused the title, even without knowing of your current condition. Said it didn't feel right to him." He stays still and unperturbed even as Harry continues to lovingly trace circles on the back of his hand. "Besides, you're the perfect choice for Sir Galahad the Pure. Always was my personal favorite of the knights."

"Oh, you're just flattering me," Harry says, sighing. With effort, he reaches up to lightly tap Merlin on the nose. It's a bit of a struggle to get his hand-eye coordination to match up correctly, but he manages it eventually, even as an unpleasant pang goes through him. _Perhaps Eggsy should have taken my name_ despite _my current condition._ "As if I haven't heard that line before, you silly flirt."

"If it worked ten times before, it can always work again," Merlin says calmly, before gracefully bending down to press his lips against Harry's mouth. And that's one moment where Harry doesn't have to worry about his coordination or loss of words. In fact, he doesn't have to use his brain at all.

It's a long while before he can really think about what happened in the church- before he can let his actions register, before he can dwell on who was truly responsible. It takes even longer for him to accept it, much less get into that pesky business of forgiveness. But in his weakest moments of doubt, his boyfriend is always there to help him, and not only Merlin, but Roxy and Eggsy and the rest of Kingsman too. Until he's finally able to move on and face the future again, they're there for him every step of the way. And he knows that he couldn't have chosen a better family.

 **AN: I feel like I'm kind of late to the party on this, but I just saw the movie recently and loved it. I likely won't do any more fics for it though.**

 **Title comes from a U2 song, "The Troubles."**

 **For this story, I had to do more research than I think I've done on a one-shot fic in a long time. Including googling the always-fun "is it possible to survive being shot in the head." And looking up obscure Arthurian names- apologies if the names I dropped aren't actually as obscure as I thought they were.**

 **I gave Eggsy the name Gawain because he's one of the few Knights of the Round Table that I know off the top of my head, also Gawain's character seemed like someone who's not a terrible fit for Eggsy. Merlin's real name is Ivan because I took a look at him and thought "He looks like a guy whose name is Ivan," even though it's not the best fit etymologically. Any more questions, feel free to review!**


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